Harry Potter and the Attack Within
by Dragonfly Hope
Summary: Following OotP. Sixth year. No HBP. Harry is depressed. Really depressed. He doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't trust Dumbledore anymore. And Snape and Harry begin to understand each other? Rated for suicidal themes, abuse, and langauge. PreSlash.
1. The Worst Summer

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does. I am making no money off of this. J. K. Rowling is. I only wish I was J. K. Rowling. But I'm not. Darnit!

WARNING: This story will have SUICIDAL themes and Pre-SLASH. Slash, for any of you who do not know, is two guys falling in love and kissing and all that kind of stuff. In other words, homosexuality. If any of this bothers you, DO NOT READ THIS STORY. It's that simple. If anyone complains about it, you will be ignored since you obviously ignored me. This is your only warning. 

Author's Note: This is a pre-slash fic; but the sequel, and I do plan on writing a sequel, will be completely slash. Also, this is one of my first fanfics, so bear with me.

So, anyway, on to the story.

Chapter One: The Worst Summer

A long, hot summer was drawing to a close. And for one boy on Privet Drive, the summer couldn't end soon enough. Harry Potter couldn't wait for school to start up again. Of course, Harry didn't really want to return to Hogwarts, not after what had happened in his fifth year; but anything, even returning to Hogwarts, was better than life with the Dursleys.

This summer was the worst summer in Harry Potter's life, for many reasons. His relatives had forced him to stay inside the house since they didn't want a repeat of the last summer with the Dementors. So Harry couldn't even take a walk around the block to relieve his stress and anxiety. Not that taking a walk would help much, since he would, of course, be followed by one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Normally he would send a letter to either Ron or Hermione, complaining about his treatment by the Dursleys; but his owl, Hedwig, had been confined to the Hogwarts Owlery for the entirety of the summer. His friends weren't even allowed to send him any letters, for fear that Voldemort might intercept them.

Voldemort, another factor of why this was his worst summer. Yeah, sure, the Ministry and the wizarding world now knew Harry was telling the truth all along, that he wasn't delusional or anything; but that didn't change the fact that the darkest wizard ever wanted him dead. So, because of that, like always, Dumbledore had put even more restrictions on Harry, including having someone 'watch over' him. Stalk him was more what they did, though.

Dumbledore, one of Harry's least favorite people. He didn't know if he could trust Dumbledore anymore, not after what he had learned from him at the end of last year. Harry still couldn't believe that Dumbledore, and many others he had put his trust in, had lied to him all those years. After all Harry had been through, they still thought of him as a weak little boy who needed protecting from the truth and life.

And then there was Sirius. No matter how much anyone told him that it wasn't Harry's fault, Harry couldn't help but to blame himself for Sirius's death. That was probably the main reason why Harry was feeling so down. His godfather, the first and only person who had ever truly cared for him and had wanted him was dead, and it was all Harry's fault.

And going to Sirius's funeral did not help him at all. In fact, it had made Harry feel even worse, if that was even possible since he was already depressed enough to begin with.

The funeral took place a week after school had ended. Remus had somehow talked Dumbledore into letting Harry attend it. Harry didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

A part of Harry didn't want to go to the funeral. The pain of Sirius's death had been too recent and fresh in Harry's mind. And to be truthful, Harry was angry at Sirius for leaving hi mall alone.

So, obviously, the funeral hadn't gone very well for Harry. Harry hadn't wanted to speak to anybody, not even to Remus, Ron, or Hermione, who were all there; and he didn't want to be around anybody. He just wanted to be by himself which was impossible. All of the Weasley's were there and every member of the Order who he had met the summer before were there; and they all wanted to talk to Harry about his 'loss'. They all told him that he shouldn't blame himself, 'it was Voldemort's fault, not yours', and that he should be extra careful since 'Voldemort will be looking for you'. Since when was Voldemort _not_ looking for him?

At the end of that day, Harry was so sick and tired of hearing the same bullshit over and over again that he almost told them all that he didn't care if Voldemort killed him and that they could all go to Hell for all he cared.

But Harry didn't say that, any of it. He couldn't.

After all, he was _Harry Potter_, the-boy-who-lived. And _Harry Potter_ didn't act like that. _Harry Potter_ was strong and never gave up.

_Harry Potter_ would never tell the headmaster of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, to go fuck himself.

Even though that was what _Harry_ wanted to tell the old man.

TBC

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	2. Red Drops of Shame

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It meant so much to me! Before you read this next chapter, I want to ask you something. In some fanfics I've read, they mention that the Marauders' Map was lost or something during Harry's fourth year. Is this true or not? I haven't read GoF in awhile and I can't quite remember if the Map was lost. If any of you know for sure, please let me know. Thanks!

On to the story.

Chapter Two: Red Drops of Shame

Red. Harry's favorite color. It wasn't because Harry was a Gryffindor, either. No, Harry had loved the color red before he even knew about Hogwarts.

Red meant release. It was a release from pain, from his life, from everything.

Red. It was also the color he hated the most. Everytime he saw it, he felt like shrinking away, curling up into a little ball. Whenever he saw it, the shame he always carried with him would grow ever larger, covering and suffocating him. At times like that, he was amazed people never noticed. But, of course, Harry was always good at hiding things, acting.

But red also gave Harry release. It freed his mind from the pain of his life, if only for a few seconds.

And that was exactly how Harry felt at this moment, free. Normal almost. And this feeling came from the red he was seeing. The red of his own blood. Blood that was dripping down his wrists from the slashes that he himself had made.

He watched it. Then he took the knife and slid the blade across his wrist again, causing more red blood to seep out and down his wrist. 

It wasn't that Harry was trying to kill himself at this moment. No, he wouldn't want to deprive Voldemort of _that_ pleasure; he wouldn't want to deprive the wizarding world of their _savior_, their _boy-who-fucking-lived_.

No. Harry did this to escape, if only for a few seconds, from the torture that was his life. When he cut, he didn't feel the pain and guilt of Sirius's death quite as much, didn't feel the constant ache in his heart; he didn't feel the awesome pressure of being _the-boy-who-lived_, didn't feel the weight of the fate of the entire wizarding world on his shoulders.

But then, after the flow of blood begins to reduce as the slashes begin to clot, a deep feeling of weakness and _shame_ came over Harry. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he choked back a sob. He sat there on the floor, feeling even more alone than he did before.

It was at times like these, after he had cut, that he felt the ache in his heart the most. It was like there was a hole, and Harry had no shred of hope of ever feeling it.

For how could someone as shameful and tainted as Harry ever be complete?

And it was at these times that Harry wished he could tell someone of all that had ever happened to him.

Of the abuse he constantly suffered from the Dursleys.

Of all the times Vernon had beaten him, whether Harry deserved it or not, and whether Vernon was drunk or not, until Harry was close to death, his own blood staining his uncle's hands, the walls, the floors.

Of all the nights he had cried himself to sleep in his cupboard after many such beatings, waiting for the blackness of death to take him. 

Of all the times he had gone without food for weeks on end, when his stomach had given up hope of receiving any food and had begun feeding upon itself.

Of the times Harry had been left outside in the cold rain for hours, days even.

Of all the times Dudley had trapped him and beat him, his friends joining in, playing 'Punch Potter'.

Of all the words and insults and jeers and hatred spat at him by the people who were supposed to care for him. Words like 'freak', son of a bitch', 'bastard', 'good for nothing piece of filth', 'trash', 'garbage', 'abomination', 'murderer', 'it', and many more.

Words said to tear him down, to make him feel alone and uncared for, to break him.

Words said so often to Harry throughout his entire life that he had come to believe them.

And of all the times, in the darkness of the night after a beating, he wished and prayed for death to come and free him.

Yes, he wanted to tell someone, anyone, about all of this and more; but he never did. He couldn't.

He couldn't because he was weak, and he was afraid of others finding out about his weakness.

They would all hate him. They'd recoil at the sight of him, disgust on their faces, disappointment in their eyes. They'd think he was weak, too. And Harry didn't want to risk losing his friends, the only family he'd ever known.

So he told no one. He kept a mask on at all times, hiding the truth from the world.

And so Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, the supposed savior of the wizarding world, crawled onto the flat mattress of his bed and cried himself to sleep, hoping Vernon wouldn't hear and come in to 'punish' him.

All the while praying that his eyes would never open again.

TBC

Please review and tell me what you think!


	3. Leaving

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does. I do, however, own the plot.

Author's Note: Thanks to lucidity for the information about the Map! It was much appreciated.

On to the story.

Chapter Three: Leaving

"Boy! Get up! Now!"

Harry's eyes opened as his uncle's voice cut through his restless sleep. He lay in his bed for a moment, thinking. Then, getting up, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and slid them on. Just as he was looking around his room, trying to find some reasonably clean clothes, the door opened and his aunt walked in.

"Here," she said, throwing him some clothes. Clean clothes. Then she left without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Harry's brow knitted in confusion. Why would his aunt bring him clean clothes? His eyes then traveled to the makeshift calendar pinned up on the wall over his bed.

It was September first. He was going back to Hogwarts today.

Just as a smile was forming on his lips at the thought of going home, his eyes noticed the knife on the floor. The smile vanished; and a deep sense of dread filled him.

What if they found out? Harry didn't think he could handle it if anyone found out about his secret. Any of his secrets.

Harry pushed those thoughts away, though. After all, it didn't help any worrying. The fact of the matter was, no matter what else, he was going back to Hogwarts. He'd just have to make sure no one found out. He'd just have to be more careful.

Shaking his head to clear it, he headed to the bathroom and took a quick shower, washing off all of the dried blood caked on his skin. Then he quickly dressed in the clean, yet still too big clothes his aunt had brought him. Harry didn't even bother to mess with his hair. 

So, finished, he went back to his room and picked up a letter off his desk. The letter was from Dumbledore. Fawkes had brought it a few days ago. In it, Dumbledore had explained to Harry that a member of the Order, one whom he had met before, would come to collect him on the first of September to take him to King's Cross. All of the new books and supplies he would need for his sixth year had already been bought; and Harry would find them in his dorm once he arrived at Hogwarts.

So, it would seem that the _great Albus Dumbledore_ had taken care of everything. All that Harry needed to do was to be here when the person showed up.

Sighing, Harry began collecting all of his belongings in his room, including those under the loose floorboard, and packed it all in his trunk. This done, Harry went downstairs to see if he could get any breakfast.

The Dursleys were sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived. And, as usual, they completely ignored his presence, even as he sat down in a chair and began serving himself some toast and bacon.

Harry was just finishing a piece of toast when his uncle broke the tense silence.

"What time are you leaving?"

"The letter said someone would come around 9 o'clock," Harry replied, not looking up from his food.

"And how is this...person...arriving?" his uncle asked, probably remembering the incident with the fireplace two summers ago.

"Car, I think."

A grunt was his uncle's only response.

Harry, wanting to get out of the room, quickly ate the rest of his breakfast and went back up to his room to wait.

He was just dozing off when the doorbell rang. He sat up and, looking at the clock, noticed that it was 9:30. Whoever Dumbledore had asked to come get him wasn't very punctual.

A few minutes after the doorbell had rung, there was a knock on Harry's door.

"Come in," Harry called. The door opened to reveal a tired, but smiling, Remus Lupin.

"Hey, Harry! How are you doing?" Remus asked, pulling Harry up and into a hug.

"I'm fine. How 'bout you?" Harry replied, pulling out of the hug.

"Oh, same old, same old," Remus began, a bit fazed about Harry's lack of enthusiasm about seeing him. "So, ready to go? Got all your stuff packed?"

"Yeah. I'm all set." Harry motioned to his packed trunk.

"Right," Remus said. Then, taking out his wand, shrunk Harry's trunk and pocketed it along with his wand. "Let's go."

Remus exited the room, Harry following after him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry noticed that the Dursleys were still sitting at the kitchen table. Briefly, Harry wondered if they had moved since Harry had been down there, or even if they had moved to answer the doorbell.

So, without a word to or from his relatives, they left the house and walked to the car waiting out front.

As they were getting into the car, Remus in the driver's seat, Harry couldn't help but ask: "You know how to drive?"

"That surprise you?" Remus asked, grinning at Harry as he started the car and pulled away.

"A little."

The ride to King's Cross was silent, Remus not knowing what to say and Harry not wanting to say anything.

TBC

Thanks for reading and please review!


	4. Almost Normal

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does. I do, however, own the plot.

Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long in getting this updated. My only excuse is that my computer was not operational for several months. My friend tried to upgrade it to make it go faster, but then it wouldn't hook up to the network so I couldn't get on the Internet. But my computer is now up and running, and you finally get another chapter.  
Also, thanks to Jazzylady for pointing out that if Harry was beaten, there would be bruises and asking how Harry would hide them. I think this chapter will explain that.

On to the story.

Chapter Four: Almost Normal

They arrived at the station at about 10:30. They quickly made their way to the barrier, stepping through it and out onto Platform nine and three quarters. The familiar sight of the Hogwarts Express was a welcome one to Harry's eyes, bringing a warm smile to his lips.

"Harry," Remus began, startling Harry out of his thoughts. He had forgotten that Remus was still there.

"Yeah?" Harry said, not wanting to have a conversation with Remus at the moment.

"Harry, I just want you to know that you can talk to me. At anytime. Day or night. About anything."

"I know, Remus," Harry said, not looking Remus in the eyes.

"I know you know, Harry. But I need to know that you're all right. You are all right, aren't you? I mean, you'd tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn't you? Harry?"

"Yeah, Remus, I would," Harry lied, forcing a smile on his face. "And don't worry. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"All right, Harry." Remus replied, not looking convinced. Then he took out Harry's shrunken trunk from his pocket and unshrunk it. "Better get you on the train, then."

They both grabbed an end of Harry's trunk and lifted it over to the train. Harry found an empty compartment near the back of the train, and the two of them stored his trunk in it.

"Well, hope you have a nice train ride. I'll see you soon, Harry." With that, Remus hugged Harry again. This time Harry didn't break the embrace. Then, after Harry saying good-bye, Remus left the train.

Alone at last, Harry sunk into one of the seats near the window. He sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass. He didn't like lying to Remus like that, but what choice did he have? He couldn't tell him the truth, could he? _What would Remus think of me_? Harry thought. Harry didn't think he could handle Remus, the only family he had left and the only link to his parents, hating and despising him. No, it was better if he didn't know. Harry doubted that he wanted to know anyway.

Not for the first time Harry wondered why Remus liked him, why he stayed with him. Was it because he as his dead best friend's only son or because he was the-boy-who-lived? Or, maybe, did he like his because he was Harry? Harry hoped it was the last, but doubted it_. It's probably because I'm James's son._

"Harry!" A shrill voice interrupted Harry's musings. Looking towards the doorway, he saw Hermione and Ron standing just inside the entryway.

Seeing that he had finally noticed them, Hermione rushed over and pulled Harry into a big hug before he could even stand up fully.

"It's great to see you, Harry," Hermione said enthusiastically, still hugging him.

"Great to see you too, 'Mione," Harry said, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. He still had several bruises and wounds from his uncle's 'punishments' that hadn't yet healed completely.

She finally let go of him, allowing Ron to greet his best friend, though less enthusiastically and with a handshake, not a hug.

"Missed you this summer, mate," Ron told him. "Mum was trying everyday to try and convince Dombledore to let you come stay with us for awhile. He wouldn't budge, the old..."

"Ron!" Hermione cut in.

"What?" Ron asked confusedly.Hermione just tutted and said, "Of course he wouldn't let Harry. Not with You-Know-Who out there after him. I mean, would it hurt you to use your head every once in awhile?"

"Well, Harry'd probably be safer with a house full of wizards than with three muggles," Ron retorted.

"Obviously Harry's house has wards and enchantments protecting it. Not to mention all the Order members watching him. Yes, Harry was much safer with his family than he would have been at the Burrow."

'How wrong she is,' thought Harry.

Just as Ron was about to retort, though, Harry interjected, "Hey, guys, I'm right here you know."

"Oh! Sorry Harry," Hermione apologized.

"Yeah, sorry mate," Rom said sheepishly.

"It's all right," Harry assured them, sitting down again. By then the train had already started moving.

"So, how were your summers?"

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, confused that Harry hadn't drilled them for information regarding the Order and Voldemort. Deciding that it was a good thing, though, they both sat down and started talking about what they did over the summer.

Listening to his friends talk about what books they had read ("Did you know the new 'Hogwarts, A History' came out? It's fascinating! Better than the last one.") and what was happening in the realm of Quidditch ("I was sure the Chudley Cannons were going to win. If only he hadn't missed that quaffle!") made Harry almost feel like a normal teenager.

Almost.

For what teenager would be thinking that it was lucky his uncle had made sure not to bruise or mess up Harry's face so that no one would know about his 'punishments?

No, Harry would never be or feel normal.

TBC

Thanks for reading and please review!

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	5. Back to Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling does. I do, however, own the plot.

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I just haven't been writing much lately. But, here it is, the next chapter. And the rest of the chapters are probably not gonna take as long to get out because I made an outline. So, that should really speed up the updates.

On to the story.

Chapter Five: Back to Hogwarts

They arrived at Hogwarts rather quickly, or so it seemed to Harry. The carriage ride up to the castle also seemed to be much faster than the previous years. Of course, Harry wasn't really paying attention to what was going on around him. He didn't notice Ron poking him in the shoulder, asking him to point out the thestrals to him (he didn't want to get anywhere near them). Harry didn't notice the Sorting Hat's new song, or even who was sorted where.

He did, however, drag himself from his daze when Dumbledore stood up to speak.

"Welcome, welcome all to another year at Hogwarts. I am sure you are all quite aware of the events which transpired last year concerning Voldemort," there was an audible gasp and cringe at the mention of the Dark Lord's name; but Dumbledore continued on, paying the students' reactions no mind. "I can assure you that even though the Dark Lord has returned, Hogwarts is still one of the safest place one could be. But even though Hogwarts is safe does not mean that everything will be the same as it always was. No, the other professors and I have had to make a few changes this year, for all of our protection."

"He'd better not have canceled Quidditch," Ron whispered to Harry. "I've been practicing all summer"

"Ssshhh!" Hermione said, glaring at Ron.

"These changes are as follows: No student will be allowed outside of the castle, day or night, unless accompanied by a professor. For all the classes that do take place out of doors, such as Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, the respective teachers will walk their classes to and from their 'classrooms'. Second, all Hogsmeade trips are scheduled to take place as planned, but they are all subject to cancellation if there is sufficient reason to do so. And, just to calm some of your fears, Quidditch has not been cancelled, but all team practices will be closely monitored by both Madam Hooch and the teams' respective Head of House."

Harry definitely heard an audible release of breathes from most of the room. It seemed that it wasn't just Ron who was concerned about Quidditch being cancelled this year, Harry among them. Quidditch was the only time Harry felt completely normal. He was just another teenager playing his favorite sport. _And_ it had absolutely nothing to do with Voldemort or being the-boy-who-lived.

"All that being said," Dumbledore resumed. "Let the feast begin." He waved his hand and piles of food appeared on the tables. Instantly the sounds of clanking dishes filled the Great Hall. Harry, having not eaten very much at all during the summer (thanks to the Dursleys), loaded his plate with food, paying special attention to the desserts. He didn't really talk to anyone during the feast, only saying a few words here and there, but that was quite normal for Harry.

He did notice the looks he was getting from many his fellow classmates, and not just the ones coming from the first-years. The looks weren't necessarily dirty ones, but they weren't the 'oh-my-god-you're-Harry-Potter' ones he was used to. They were a strange mixture of awe and reverence and _fear_. _They're afraid of me_, Harry thought.

That thought shocked Harry, of course, but it didn't surprise him. After all, he had faced Voldemort, the most evil and powerful wizard ever, several times now and _survived each time_. Harry could bet that the question an each person's mind was 'How?' How did Harry Potter, a kid, survive Voldemort countless times when so many fully trained Aurors hadn't?

That was a question which plagued Harry himself constantly.

Why did he survive and not his parents? Or Sirius? What made _him_ so special?

These were the questions Harry was mulling over in his mind as the feast was ending. He had just stood up when Professor McGonagall tapped his shoulder, telling him to follow her. So, with a glance at Hermione and Ron, Harry followed his professor to Dumbledore's office, just as he had been expecting. Stopping at the stone gargoyle, McGonagall said the password ("Lemon Drops"), and left Harry to continue up the familiar spiral staircase by himself.

When he reached Dumbledore's office, he paused. This was where Dumbledore had finally told him about the prophecy. Right after Sirius had died.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, pulling Harry out of his reverie.

"Professor," he answered stiffly, reluctantly walking the rest of the way into the office and up to the desk. Harry really did not want to talk to _him_ at all.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

_Shitty_, Harry thought, but said "Fine," his face locked into a neutral expression.

"How were your aunt and uncle this summer"

_Fucking bastards_. "Fine"

"That's good Harry. I'm glad your summer went well." _Is Dumbledore really that _dumb

"Harry, I asked you up here to ask you how you are doing, how you are coping with Sirius's death. I know that it must have hurt you very deeply, him being your godfather." _Thanks for reminding me_, he thought sarcastically.

"Harry, how are you doing"

"I'm fine"

"Are you sure? You know that you can always come talk to me if there is anything bothering you or you need to talk about." _Yeah, like I'm really gonna talk to you about my problems. No fucking way is that ever going to happen!_

"I know, Professor, but I really am alright," Harry tried to sound as convincing and sincere as possible. "I believe you Harry." _Idiot._

"May I go now, Professor? I'm a bit tired after the train and the sorting," Harry asked, throwing in a small yawn.

"Yes, you may go now. Just remember that my door is always open to you, for whatever you need," Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry turned around and walked out of the door and down the spiral staircase. Both Hermione and Ron were waiting for him.

"What'd Dumbledore want?" Ron asked.

"He just asked how I was doing," he answered him.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked, concern written all over her face.

"I'm doing alright; though I am a bit tired of people asking me that constantly. If I wasn't doing alright, don't you think I'd tell someone?" Another lie. Harry hated lying to his two best friends, but he wasn't going to tell them the truth, not ever.

"I guess so," Hermione said, not quite convinced though.

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ron saying the password ("speremus"). They all said goodnight to each other and went to bed. Ron was asleep before his head even reached the pillow. Harry, however, didn't get to sleep until well past midnight. And when he finally fell asleep, it was not a peaceful one.

But that was normal for Harry Potter. After all, why would anyone want the-boy-who-lived to get a goodnight's sleep?

TBC

speremus: Latin-may we hope

Please review; it really does help me with writing the story.


	6. Acting

Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling does. I do, however, own the plot.

Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait. I just hadn't been writing much lately. But that will all change now that it's summer and I'm not in school anymore. (In fact, I'm not even in High School anymore. I graduated! Yay me!)  
Anyway, I also apologize for this chapter being short. Hopefully my chapters will get longer. But, this time, I just wanted to get another chapter out to all of you instead of forcing you to wait even longer.

On to the story.

Chapter Six: Acting (for lack of a better name)

Harry awoke the next morning exhausted; he kept having horrible nightmares. And every time he would wake up, he asked himself the same question: was he Voldemort's secret weapon? What if…

_No! _He wouldn't start thinking down that path; he knew what would happen if he did. He would end up hiding in the bathroom, in one of the shower stalls, with his knife; although he felt ashamed to admit it, even if it was just to himself, he knew it was true.

So, while trying to push those thoughts away, he got dressed into his robes and went down to breakfast with his friends. After all, it wouldn't do for the "boy-who-lived" to miss breakfast. At least, not on the first day of classes.

Harry went down to breakfast, sitting in his usual spot between Hermione an Ron, and acted as if he were perfectly fine. And that is precisely what he did: acted. He smiled when he was supposed to; he laughed at the appropriate moments, for the appropriate amount of time; he even contributed to the conversations exactly when it was expected of him to; but no more than was expected from him.

The sad thing about this, besides the fact he was used to doing this, was that no one ever noticed he was acting.

His first few classes were a breeze, even if he was exhausted. After all, the teachers in all those classes liked him, some even worshipped the-boy-who-live. So none of those teachers either minded or could tell that he wasn't fully "with them."

It wasn't until Potions (yes, Harry had made it into Advanced Potions. How? Who knows.) that he really had to start concentrating, and not just on his work. For Harry was still pissed at Snape from all of those Occlumency "lessons" last year. Yep. Professor Snape was definitely not one of Harry's favorite people.

So Harry had quite a hard time keeping his mouth shut and his retorts to himself every time Snape opened his mouth; especially since Snape continually criticized his perfectly fine potion, all while throwing in comments about his fame, his arrogance, and, of course, his father. Luckily, for Harry as well as Snape, he did steer clear from mentioning Sirius completely. Snape even realized that mentioning Harry's godfather in _any_ way would not be the wisest thing to do.

In fact, it would have been _the_ dumbest thing to do.

And Severus Snape did not do dumb things.

TBC


	7. Secrets Revealed and Pondered Thoughts

Disclaimer: See chapters one through six…and if that doesn't tell you anything, think about this: why would the author of a best-selling book series be writing a fanfiction? Key word in there is _fan_. Got it? Good.

Author's Note: Really, really, _really_ sorry about the long wait. The funny thing about this chapter is that I wrote the first part of it while drunk. I re-wrote it, of course; but you should have seen what I wrote. None of the words were spelled correctly, there were X's and Z's in every word, and there were some parts that I couldn't even understand what the heck I was trying to say! Just think of a drunk person talking, and that was about how I wrote. At least now I know not to type while drunk. : ) I did re-write and correct it, but I kept the drunk copy for my own personal enjoyment.

Again, I apologize for the long wait. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

On to the story!

Chapter Seven: Secrets Revealed and Pondered Thoughts

About three weeks into the school year, Harry couldn't take it anymore. Classes, being the boy-who-lived, acting like he was okay all the time—it was just too much, he needed a break. He needed release.

Now, he would have normally tried not to cut during the school day, or at least have tried not to do it in a rather public place, but Harry just didn't care anymore. He couldn't. It hurt too much when he cared. So, after a rather horrible potions class, Harry snuck into one of the rarely used bathrooms in the dungeons, and he started to cut himself.

He had just slid the pocketknife through his skin twice when he realized he had an audience.

Standing right behind him was Severus Snape, doing the most un-Snape-like thing: gawking. Snape didn't quite know what to do; he hadn't been expecting the sight before him. Harry Potter, the spoiled brat of Gryffindor, was cutting himself.

They both just stood where they were, staring, for several minutes, Snape in front of the closed door, dumbstruck, and Harry holding the bloody knife an inch above his left arm, terrified. Neither knew what to do or say.

Finally, Snape broke the silence.

"Potter, what the _fuck_ are you doing?" he said in a low voice.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Harry snarled.

"It looks like you're cutting yourself," Snape glared at him.

"Gee, really? And here I thought I was playing the violin," Harry shot back as he stuffed the knife in his pocket, pulling down his sleeve as he grabbed his bag, and shoved past his still dumbfounded professor. Harry had just opened the door when Snape realized what he was doing.

"Hold it right there, Potter!" he almost shouted.

"Go to Hell, Snape!" Harry did shout as he ran out the bathroom and down the hallway.

------------------------------

Harry ran out of the dungeons and outside, and then he kept running until he fell under a tree by the lake. His heart was racing and he could feel the blood trickling down his arm.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! Great job, _Potter_! Now Snape knows your secret! He'll probably tell the headmaster now, if not the entire school. Your relatives are right, you are worthless! _

Harry sat there for hours, not really caring if anybody missed them. He couldn't believe he had been so careless. Snape was never going to let him forget this, now. He'll get Dumbledore involved and the manipulative bastard will try to "help" him. _A lot of good Dumbledore's help has been so far_, he thought sarcastically.

He wondered if he there was anyway he could convince Snape not to tell anybody. He laughed bitterly at that. _Like Snape would really do anything that would help Harry Potter_.

_Life is just not fair._

------------------------------

Later that night, Snape sat in his rooms, thinking over the earlier incident in the bathroom. After Potter had run out, he had just stood there looking at the few drops of blood on the floor. He couldn't understand it. How could Potter, spoiled, arrogant, famous _Potter_, cut himself? _Why_ would he cut himself? Snape just couldn't wrap his mind around this revelation.

_It's probably just another of his stunts to get even more attention than he already does._ Snape thought bitterly to himself.

But, for some odd reason, Snape didn't believe himself. He had a feeling something was wrong with Potter, _well, more wrong than there already is_.

Snape knew he should tell the headmaster about this, about what he saw, but he also suspected that that was the last thing Potter needed right now. He had seen Albus's office after the incident at the Department of Mysteries; it was a wreck. Potter had gone on a rampage. Everything was either smashed or torn to bits. Snape would have never even dared to _think_ of going on a rampage in the headmaster's office, yet that was what Potter had done, and more. There were still a few items that were completely beyond repair.

Snape figured Albus Dumbledore was the last person Potter would want knowing his secret, except, perhaps, Snape himself.

And yet, it seemed that Snape was the only person in a position to do anything about it.

_Life is just not fair._

TBC


	8. Fix You

Disclaimer: Basically, I don't own Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling does; I just like tormenting, I mean playing with, her characters.

Author's Note: So sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I've been rather busy. But the neat part of this chapter is that I wrote it in London. That's right, London. I'm taking a semester to study over here, so yeah, that's why this chapter is so late.

And as a little side note, a few days ago on Monday they were filming a scene from the fifth movie (the one where Mr. Weasley takes Harry to the Ministry hearing) and they had to close down a part of the London Underground tube system to do it, since they were filming it at a tube station and on the tube, basically. If only I had known about it that day instead of finding out the next day. I could have gone to that station and maybe have seen something! But I was on the tube at the same time, so that is still kinda cool.

Anyway, the title of this chapter, along with many of the upcoming titles, is the title of a song that I think goes perfectly with the mood of the chapter. I love lyrics to songs, and sometimes I can just imagine parts of stories going along exactly like the lyrics.

This chapter is "Fix You" by Coldplay.

On to the story!

Chapter Eight: Fix You

The next week was a blur to Harry. He kept expecting Dumbledore to call him up to his office for a "chat" or to walk into the Great Hall amid shocked faces and cruel laughs (from Slytherin). But there was nothing. No worried glances or rumors or even a whisper.

And that scared Harry even more.

_Why hasn't he said anything? _Harry continually thought regarding Snape. He could only assumes the silence meant that Snape had something much crueler and humiliating in store for him. It would just like Snape to do that to Harry.

------------------------------------

All through that week, Snape watched Harry. Actually, a better term would be _studied_. He studied Harry.

He studied the way Harry interacted with his friends, always putting on a fake smile and acting every bit the hero they thought he was; but it was all just an act. Snape could see that now, could see that he had been wrong about Harry for the past five years.

_That_ scared Snape. The thought that he could have been fooled so easily by a mere act the same as everybody else. He had always prided himself on being able to read people, to know when someone was hiding something or not, to see through someone's act.

But he had missed this completely. He never even thought Potter capable of such duplicity. And he had to admit that he was an excellent actor. He had to be to hide such pain from even his closest friends.

Now, though, he saw every fake smile and heard every fake laugh. He noticed how Harry edged away from any physical contact, even from Granger and Weasley. He discovered that Harry was a very withdrawn person, never letting _any_body get too close.

It wasn't until the next Friday, a little more than a week after the 'incident', that snape finally decided to confront Harry.

"Potter, stay after class," he barked as his students were packing up to leave.

_This is it_, Harry thought as all his friends filed out of the room, abandoning him in Harry's eyes.

As the last student left, Harry steeled himself, wiping every emotion from his face, and turned to Snape.

"Yes, professor?" he asked as Snape cast several silencing and locking charms on the room.

"When did you start?" Snape asked him, deciding that the direct approach was best.

"When did I start what?" Harry asked, giving Snape a confused look.

Snape controlled his urge to snap at the boy and instead answered him.

"When did you start cutting yourself?"

"I don't believe I know what you're talking about, Professor."

"Drop the act, Potter, because it's not fooling me anymore!" Snape grabbed Harry's arm, shoving his sleeve up. There were no marks on the skin.

Harry smirked and was just about to say something when Snape cast a powerful counter-concealment charm. Harry's smirk fell.

A criss-crossing of scars was suddenly revealed on Harry's arm, along with a few recent cut marks.

Harry growled and pulled his arm away from Snape's grasp, shoving the sleeve back down.

"Fuck off, Snape!"

"When did it start, Potter?"

"What does it matter to you? You don't care!"

"It matters that one of my students is purposefully harming himself! It matters that you, of all people, would be so reckless with your own life after all the precautions that have been set up to protect you!"

"Oh yeah, all the precautions to protect the great boy-who-fucking-lived! Can't let anything happen to Dumbledore's little weapon, now can we! Did it ever occur to any of you that it is _my_ life, not yours, not Dumbledore's, to play around with and manipulate! I am so _sick_ of everybody deciding stuff about _my_ life and making choices that affect _me_ without even asking what I think and then excuse their actions by calling it _protection!_ So if I decide to cut _my_ arms and risk _my_ life, then I don't see why it should fucking matter to anybody else! _It's my life! And my decision!_" Harry was shouting by now, tears streaming down his face.

Snape was dumbstruck. He had to admit, Potter did have a point. Everybody was making decisions regarding the boy, decisions that affected his entire life, without even consulting him first. It wasn't right; but then, none of this was right.

"You're right, Potter, it is your life and your decision. But that still doesn't answer my question: When did it start?"

Harry stared at him, not understanding what exactly was going on, but he was too tired from his outburst to do anything other than finally answer Snape.

"Since the beginning of the summer," he said in a defeated sigh.

"I thought that might be when." Snape thought a moment. "Potter…Harry, I'm not going to tell you to stop, as you probably already know that you should, and I am not going to tell the headmaster about your cutting." Harry breathed a sigh of relief at that. "_But_, I am going to have to insist that you meet with me at least once a week to talk about your cutting and everything else that seems to be bothering you. And you _will_ talk, Po…Harry, otherwise I will have no choice but to tell the headmaster. Do you understand?"

Harry looked at him. He didn't want to talk to anybody about his cutting or anything else, least of all with Snape; but it seemed like he didn't have any choice in the matter. _Just like in everything else._ Harry thought bitterly.

"Yeah, I understand."

"Good. Now, you will meet me in my office after dinner tonight. Do not be late, as I will take it to mean that you've decided you don't mind if I tell the headmaster."

"Fine," Harry growled, before turning around and stalking out of the room. He hated Snape right then, hated him more than he ever thought possible. _Fucking bastard…_

Snape watched him stalk off, wondering how he got into the mess he was in. How was he, Severus Snape, greasy bastard of Slytherin, supposed to fix Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Gryffindor?

But, long ago, he swore to himself he'd never let any student of his make the same mistakes he did.

_I don't know how, but I promise, I will try to fix you…_

TBC

A.N: Another reason why this is so late is because it took me a long while t figure out how to write. This is a very important chapter, a very important scene; one I didn't quite know how to go about writing, especially the part where Harry explodes at Snape and the reasons why Snape would want to help Harry.

It was weird, my own story surprised me. I wasn't expecting Harry to ask why it mattered to Snape. I didn't have a good answer to that.

It's weird when your own story gets away from you.

And I'm still not too happy about Harry's explosion, but oh well…


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